


gentle.

by birdjay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 05:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdjay/pseuds/birdjay
Summary: “C’mon, doll. When was the last time you ate anything?”Steve blinks again, and then rubs at one eye with a fist. “Uh...what time is it?” he asks, voice a little gruff. He glances towards the digital clock on the microwave, but apparently can’t quite read the neon green numbers. Steve turns back to Bucky for an answer.Bucky’s frown only deepens. “It’s about two in the afternoon.”Steve winces. “Then...not since last night?”





	gentle.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goodmanperfectsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmanperfectsoldier/gifts).

> A birthday fic for Em! She's so kind, and wonderful, and I thought I'd give her a sweet little fic for her birthday. She requested a gentle but in control Bucky, so here you go. I hope you enjoy it, dear! This was not really beta'd, but [deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium) looked it over and helped me out with the ending! So thanks to her, as always! All mistakes are my own.

“Honey,” Bucky says softly, as comes up behind his husband. He reaches over Steve’s thin shoulder, and gently closes the textbook in front of him. It’s one of many spread out on the kitchen table. The whole thing is drowning in lined paper, notes, highlighters and pencils. “You’ve been doing nothing but staring at that page for the past fifteen minutes. Maybe it’s time for a break?”

Steve turns to look at him, blinking sluggishly. He looks dazed, and a little unfocused, like he’s completely checked out mentally. Bucky frowns as he brushes Steve’s bangs out of his eyes. “C’mon, doll. When was the last time you ate anything?”

Steve blinks again, and then rubs at one eye with a fist. “Uh...what time is it?” he asks, voice a little gruff. He glances towards the digital clock on the microwave, but apparently can’t quite read the neon green numbers. Steve turns back to Bucky for an answer.

Bucky’s frown only deepens. “It’s about two in the afternoon.”

Steve winces. “Then...not since last night?”

“Steven,” Bucky says, admonishing. “You know you can’t do that. You  _have _ to eat.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I  _have_ to finish this chapter, and then work on my paper. And grade the undergrad tests,” Steve says, dragging both hands down his face. 

Bucky curses under his breath. There’s at least 200 kids in one undergrad class, which means Steve could be up until the wee hours of the night trying to grade them all.

“That man does not appreciate you at all,” Bucky says, a little harsh. Steve’s a TA for one of the art history professors -- and the man uses Steve like a glorified personal assistant. Bucky hates him, but usually attempts to keep that to himself. He pushes a little on Steve’s back, trying to coax him out of the chair. “C’mon, it can all wait another hour. You need to eat and look at something that isn’t a textbook.”

Steve gets his feet under him, and pulls himself up to his not-so-considerable height. He stretches just a little, and Bucky can hear how his back pops and cracks with the movement. Finally, Steve stands straight up, pulling on the hem of his shirt to make it lay right. Two steps, and he faceplants directly into Bucky’s chest.

Bucky smiles, a warm feeling growing in his stomach. God, he loves Steve. He rubs one hand down his spine, feeling each little vertebrae under his palm as he moves. 

“I’m taking you out. Where do you want to eat?”

He gets a muffled answer in response, Steve’s breath hot against his sternum.

“Didn’t get that, love.”

Steve moves his face out of Bucky’s sweater just long enough to say, “Joe’s Deli.”

Well, that’s easy enough. It’s just around the corner, not too far to walk to. Bucky presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “Alright,” he says, inhaling the soft, warm almost-sweet smell of his husband. “Let’s go then.”

  
  


***

They’ve been married for approximately three years. It had been a rush job, much to Bucky’s dismay, but in the end, they were  _married_. Legally, too. Steve was the reason they’d taken all of two months to plan their wedding, desperately wanting it to just  _happen_ already. He hadn’t wanted to wait, hadn’t wanted to plan something extensive or outrageous. There was no real _reason  _ they got married when they did. There was no emergency, no green card or insurance needs or anything like that. They simply loved each other, and wanted to cement that legally.

In the end, they said their vows in front of family and friends, and danced the night away in the local community center. Bucky’s mom and sisters had provided the food. Steve’s friends had provided the alcohol.

It was a good night.

The best night of Bucky’s life, actually. 

They’d been very, very young -- Steve only 19, and Bucky 23 -- when they swapped rings and exchanged vows. More than one stranger had told them that they’d regret it, that the marriage wouldn’t last five years. Bucky wishes he could meet them all again just to shove it in their faces. They were happy still, thanks. 

He couldn’t imagine much would change in the next two years, the next ten, the next twenty, fifty.

***

Bucky pushes Steve into a booth, kissing him on the temple before heading back to place their order at the counter. He gets them both foot-long subs, Italian for himself, and turkey for Steve. He throws in three individual sized bags of chips, too, and large drinks as well. Steve needs to get his blood sugar up, get food in him before he passes out from exhaustion. This isn’t the first time in their relationship that he’s forgotten to eat in favor of finishing his work. Bucky’s sure it won’t be the last, either. No matter how hard he tries to gently remind his husband to take care of himself. 

Maybe things will change once he finishes his graduate degree and gets a regular job, but Bucky wouldn’t put money on it.

He rocks back and forth on his heels, watching the man behind the counter make their sandwiches. There’s soft tinkly music playing over the speakers, just loud enough to be heard. It’s peaceful here, not too many people want lunch at 2:15 in the afternoon. Bucky peeks over his shoulder to check on Steve, and finds him laying his head down on his arms, hair flopping down over his sleeves. He wouldn’t be surprised if Steve was actually asleep. He’s running on fumes at this point.

“Here, man,” the employee says, dragging his attention back to the transaction at hand. The man slides the two wrapped sandwiches across towards Bucky. “Total is $20.15.”

Bucky shoves his card into the reader, barely registering the cost. They aren’t well off by any means, but they aren’t hurting. Not anymore, at least. Not since Bucky finally landed the engineering job at Stark Industries. They finally have actual health insurance, plus dental. Plus actual leftover money at the end of the month! It beats the hell out of having to choose meat for dinner or paying for Steve’s inhaler.

The card reader beeps angrily, and Bucky whips his card out and back into his wallet. He gathers everything into his arms, semi-precariously, and heads back to the booth he left Steve at. 

“What kinda drink d’you want, doll?” Bucky asks, setting Steve’s sandwich in front of him, along with two of the bags of chips. 

Steve lifts his head off his arms slowly, blinking a few times before his eyes focus on Bucky’s face. “Um. Lemonade, if they have it?”

“You got it,” Bucky says, grabbing the two empty cups and making his way towards the drink machine. It’s one of the fancy Coke ones, with all the choices in the world. He taps his way through the screen, filling one cup with some ice and lemonade before moving on to his own. Bucky waffles with his choice, finally deciding at the last minute to just get lemonade, too. 

By the time he gets back to the table, Steve is a quarter of the way through his sandwich. He’s chewing slowly, eyes barely open. One elbow is on the table, hand holding his chin up. 

“Can you eat at least half of that for me?” Bucky asks, sitting down across from Steve. Whatever he doesn’t eat, they’ll take home. Bucky will make him eat more of it later, probably before he has to make Steve go to bed. He’s so used to having to gently force Steve to do things that it doesn’t even register as odd anymore. His husband is like having a small puppy, sometimes.

Steve nods, swallowing. “It’s good,” he says, with a small smile. 

Bucky smiles back, unwrapping his own sandwich. “Good. Keep eating, please.”

Steve nods, sleepily, taking another huge bite. Bucky watches him chew for a moment before starting in on his own food. He’s right -- it _is_ good. Better than anything he could have made at home, that’s for sure. 

They eat in silence, every now and then nudging each other’s shins with the toes of their shoes. Bucky smiles around a mouthful of food, and Steve wrinkles his nose at him in response. It’s a quiet sort of belonging -- they don’t need to talk to understand one another. They can read each other with such ease, it doesn’t take much for Bucky to know what Steve means without words. A quirk of an eyebrow, a barely-there nod. It’s easy to be like this with him.

It’s so easy to be with Steve.

Bucky finishes his sandwich, balling up the wax paper wrapping in his fist. There’s still a whole half left of Steve’s sandwich, but that was to be expected, really. If he’s healthy, and in the right mindset, Steve could eat a whole buffet spread and not complain. But he’s not any of that right now. He’s exhausted, and probably well on his way towards an illness of some sort. It always feels like he’s one badly-timed sneeze away from catching pneumonia.

“You gonna eat any more of that now, or you wanna bring it home?” Bucky asks, nodding towards the food in front of Steve.

Steve shrugs, swallowing another mouthful of food. He pulls his lemonade towards him, and takes a huge slurp from the straw. 

“We’re bringing it home, then,” Bucky decides, reaching over to wrap everything back up. Once it’s all covered, he tucks it under his arm like a football. “You wanna go anywhere else before we head home?”

Another shrug. The neck of his shirt is stretched out, and falls over one shoulder as he moves. Bucky reaches out and straightens it for him with a soft tug. 

“Alright, well, c’mon. You need to sleep,” Bucky says, nodding towards the exit. He pulls himself up to his feet, and then holds his free hand out towards Steve. Steve takes it, and hauls himself up to stand. He wobbles slightly on unsteady feet. Bucky frowns -- Steve’s way more tired than he originally thought.

“I gotta work,” Steve says, around a huge yawn that he doesn’t bother to cover. Bucky can see the fillings in his back teeth for a split second before the yawn finishes out. He brushes Steve’s hair out of his eyes again, and leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Work can wait,” Bucky replies, gently pushing Steve towards the door. 

They make it home fifteen minutes later, Bucky’s arm around Steve the entire way.

***

As soon as they’re through the door and their shoes are off, Bucky bends and picks Steve up bridal-style. He weighs next to nothing, so there’s no real effort needed, and it’s not like Steve has any energy to put up a decent fight about it. Bucky adjusts his grip carefully, and then sets off through their tiny apartment. It’s a short walk to the bedroom. 

Steve whines, high in the back of his throat. “Buck, I’m serious, I need…”

“You need sleep, mister,” Bucky says, setting Steve on the bed as gently as he can. He waits a beat, just looking at his husband, then leans over to kiss him softly on the mouth. Steve sighs into it, relaxing into the mattress. “We’re gonna nap.”

“I can’t,” Steve says, arguing just for the sake of it. Despite that, Steve hasn’t even attempted to get off the bed. He’s only squished himself further into it, like he’s trying to melt into the comforter. For all his complaining, Steve isn’t going anywhere.

“Shush,” Bucky says quietly, as he walks around to his side. He climbs up on top of the covers, and arranges himself comfortably. As soon as he’s set, Bucky opens his arms, and Steve rolls and wiggles into them, like he’s magnetized. Steve sets his head on Bucky’s wide chest, sliding one hand up to rest on his soft stomach. Bucky covers it with one of his own. “Sleep now, okay? I’ll stay with you.”

Steve mumbles something that doesn’t quite form into words, but he turns his head, and rubs his face against Bucky’s shirt. Bucky knows he’s won -- that’s a move Steve only does right before he’s about to fall asleep. He smiles, and wraps his arms around Steve a little more securely, stretching just enough to kiss his husband’s hair. He plans to stay right where he is for at least an hour, hopefully more. Steve needs rest, and Bucky has nowhere he’d rather be.

***

They wake three hours later, curled around each other under the covers. Bucky barely remembers tugging the blankets up over them, in order to ease Steve’s faint shivering. He’s getting sick -- Bucky has a sixth sense about these things after so many years. It’ll hopefully be just a cold, but with the time of year, it could turn into any number of more serious things. Worry stirs in his gut, just for a brief second, before fading away as Steve rotates to stick his nose into the crook of Bucky’s neck. They’ll deal with whatever comes when they can, but for right now, Bucky is keeping him where he is. 

There’s a wet patch on his shirt where Steve’s drooled through it, and there’s a crick in Bucky’s neck, but it’s worth it. It’s so worth it.

And even if Steve does come down with the super-plague, or the flu, or bronchitis, or hell, all three combined, Bucky will take care of him. Just like he always does. Just like he promised to, forever. 

He twists, just a little, to kiss Steve’s hair. “Love you,” Bucky whispers into the blonde strands. “Love you so much.”

  
  



End file.
